The late afternoon traffic through downtown was slow moving, though most of rush hour was over. Leon passed what remained, swerving around the slower moving vehicles that wouldn’t get out of the way fast enough.
Marianne remained silent and gazed out the passenger side window. The Cadillac drove south, then west, then looped back in a big circle. It detoured off the highway and over to a self-serve gas station. Leon filled up with gas and went inside to pay. He came back out with a city map. He opened the door and eased himself down into the soft leather seat. “I’ve only been to this cemetery once before,” he said. He busied himself with the map, found the destination, then put his finger on the spot. He handed the map to Marianne, keeping his finger on the dot that represented the cemetery. She squirmed around to look at it. “Looks like we have gone in the wrong direction,” she said. He smiled like he didn’t believe her and looked at the map again. He sighed and eased the car back onto the road in the other direction. The gas needle jumped up to the F, which seemed to reassure him. He accelerated up to cruise, then settled back into the seat and rested both hands lightly on the wheel.
They began traveling silently to the cemetery. They left the highway and followed a two lane road for a long way and then turned off to the left at a beautiful white church with a tall steeple. Large oak trees stood all around. He drove to the back of the cemetery to the grave site, parked, got out and walked with her over to the grave, then turned and walked over to a wooden table and sat on the bench. Flowers were scattered throughout the cemetery, stuck in the urns in the ground all around the edges and in the middle…some yellow, some pink, some white.
A bird's song echoed through the trees. A scented breeze stirred the neatly-clipped grass. Marianne stood and just looked. She could not help but think that she could lay over on her sister’s grave as though to give her a big deep hug. The beauty of the day mocked her thoughts, mocked a life that had burned too bright and flickered out too soon. Tears flowed.
Everything outside got still, she sat down to the sound of her own breathing in her ears, her heart going fast like when she went running but she was doing nothing except staring at that grave and that name.
Common enough. Shelby. Shelby Anne Zachary. Same as the name in simple block letters on that stone. Her sister’s name. The sister that hardly was. It goes round in her head, echoing... the name repeated so many times over the years. Shelby, Shelby come play with me. Shelby such a cheerful baby. If only Shelby was here.
Shelby Zachary. Dead before she could understand what living was. Marianne wondered who she would've been, what she would've done if she had lived. She would have been fourteen now.
Maybe I’m doing the living for her. Would she like what I’m doing? Perhaps it was this wondering that brought her to life. She felt a stirring, a shout for attention without words or voice.
She sighed and stood up, stretching limbs tired from an hour of sitting still. Was she a murderer? She reeled from the thought and briefly the world spun around her, azure of sky and green of leaves swirling together. Somehow she didn’t think so. Why couldn’t she remember? Sure, she had told Bill she remembered doing it when she found out that only an admission of guilt could free her. Was it so terrible that she had blocked it from memory? Surely the memory would come back after so many years.
She sank heavily to her knees. Her hand touched the cold stone and she could breathe again. After a few moments she dared to lift her head, coming face-to-face with the inscription once more.
SHELBY ANNE ZACHARY
Born December 20, 1995 - Died November 16, 2000
Beloved Daughter and Angel sent from Heaven for such a short time
As a single rose can bring beauty to the most desolate landscape, you brought beauty to this world.
And the memory came once again unbidden, one that drained her in the day and woke her up more nights than she cared to count. The little sister who hardly was. The dead sister who’ll always be a baby.
She began to consider...something she hadn't allowed herself to dwell upon before...the issue of her responsibility for events that caused her family members such hurt. It simply couldn't be ignored that she was to blame for her own sister's death. She wondered if, even subconsciously, her mother hated her for her younger daughter’s death. Marianne certainly felt accountable, and the burden of such a guilt was unreal to her. Inevitably, the manipulation of memory and regret took hold. She found herself going back in her memories, staring, gaping solemnly at the spot where she supposed Shelby had fallen, soaking in her own blood. And it's your fault. The guilt whirled inside of her to an uncontainable upset as her thoughts sped on... She relived that morning in her mind...she envisioned the hit on the head that killed her, imagining how Shelby probably cried out and twisted to the floor. How she may have desperately attempted to move, to breathe, writhing in pain until the blackness solemnly draped over her....
The bird songs again, now scattered and sporadic.
A gift from heaven. Shelby was a gift from heaven, flowed through her mind as she gazed at the verdant trees surrounding the graveyard. Again her eyes turned to the small rise with the little gravestone. She went and sat alone by the wall that surrounded the cemetery. Her black hair blew ever so slightly with the breeze. She brushed at it and glanced up. Two shining grey eyes stared out at her from a gaunt, pale face. They were the eyes of a woman standing over a fresh grave. The woman glanced at her several times, and every time those empty, sorrowful eyes met hers she got cold chills. This was Marianne’s first time at a graveyard and she didn't quite know what to expect. Surely she never dreamed there would be a somber woman staring at her with such knowledge.
The woman walked slowly toward her and stopped directly in front of her.
"He knew no pain. He died in his sleep." The woman said as she gestured toward the grave. Her voice was heavy with sadness. “I've always experienced odd things in my life that nobody could explain and that I certainly didn't feel comfortable talking about them. I was standing at my husband’s grave when I saw, in my mind, a vision of a dead little girl. I saw her lying by a red handled claw hammer.”
The woman stopped and sighed. “Is your name Marianne?” She pulled a crumpled tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes.
Marianne was mute. She nodded her head.
“The child spoke to me. She said you mustn’t grieve for her. That she is in a wonderful place. She doesn’t want you to feel guilty. She said: ‘You didn’t hurt me, Marianne. You wouldn’t hurt me.’”
Marianne watched as the woman turned and walked toward the gates. A rose bush with huge white blossoms lined the fence. As she passed, she reached out and touched the petals of the largest rose. She sighed and kept walking. Walking away from the dreary graveyard.
Marianne let her fingers rest on the headstone. There was peace in her heart. A peace that hadn't been there since her sister's death. She knew now that she hadn’t hurt Shelby and that she was in a far better place.
Now the trees seemed to whisper to her soul to hang her memories on its branches and to go on with her life. To find some kind of peace if she could, to go on and try to find forgiveness. To try to understand, try to put it in its place, so that she could. But, at some time, in some moment, thoughts of the past will always surface.
She sat back on her heels, surveying her handiwork. Absently she patted the ground, firming the dirt around the new plants needlessly. Softly she sighed. As she did so, a shadow fell across the newly planted flowers and she glanced up. Marianne smiled and Leon nodded a greeting. Marianne absently brushed some dirt off of the head stone. Not that it mattered; there was no writing on the stone that had been obscured.
After a long moment Marianne finally spoke. "It's odd...I came here, but we both know that she's not here." It came out more as a question than a statement. Gently she dropped some cut flowers onto the grave. She smiled self-consciously, trying to gauge Leon's reaction out of the corner of her eye. Leon looked at the plants she had just finished putting in the ground. Softly he murmured, "There's Rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts."
Marianne looked at him quizzically. "That's lovely. Did you make that up?"
Leon glanced up with a smile. "Oh no. It's Shakespeare."
"Shakespeare?"
"An author of very old books."
"Ahhhh." Marianne fell silent and turned back to the grave, staring at the flowers she had dropped. Already they were starting to wither in the warmth of the day. The leave tips were turning brown and some of the petals were curling up. What had possessed her to do such a silly, sentimental thing? Quickly she reached down and snapped up the stray stems, flashing Leon another self-conscious smile.
"This is silly." she murmured embarrassedly.
Leon grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?"
"They look silly there. See? They are dying already...and next to the beautiful flowers just planted...well..." she glanced down at her small bouquet uncertainly. "They are rather pitiful, aren't they?"
Leon smiled kindly and gently took the flowers from Marianne and placed them back on the grave. "They are fine."
Aunt Helen asked me to be your friend, to help you with whatever is troubling you."
"What makes you think anything is troubling me?" mumbled Marianne. She stared at Leon, confused, for a moment.
"Because you came here. You don’t have to visit your sister's grave, she doesn’t know you are here, and yet, still you came."
She smiled, a little sadly. "Well it’s different for me. I have an obligation...I made a promise. A promise to myself that I would not forsake her and that I would find a way to make it up to her for what I did.” It came out more defensively than she had intended and she bit her lip in frustration.
Leon, for her part, didn't seem offended by Marianne's tone. He continued to stare at the grave, as if waiting for something to happen. Softly, around them a light summer breeze had sprung up, gently waving the newly planted flowers. Marianne sat there, feeling the breeze in her hair and on her cheeks and she turned her face to the sun, lifting it up to the sun's warmth. She sat there for a long moment, basking in the sunlight, and then the tears came. Convulsively she started to sob. Gently, Leon put an arm around her, comforting her.
"Poor child." he murmured over and over.
"I didn’t know it would be so hard." sobbed Marianne. "No one can understand....I am neither one thing or another and because of it, Rex has been so terrible these last few weeks...like I'm a child...and Mavis goes along with it. I'm different and they won't ever let me forget that!” She broke down completely, unable to talk any further. Leon continued to hold her, murmuring gentle words of comfort. In a few moments it was all out and over with. Marianne sat up, sniffing furiously and ran a hand across her nose.
"Don’t let them.” Marianne stared at Leon in confusion. "What?"
"Don’t let them treat you differently. I can’t interfere. This is something you have to do. But you must force them to treat you as though you are normal or they will always treat you differently. You must convince them that you are the same as the rest of us.” Marianne stared at him mutely. Finally she whispered, "But how?” Leon smiled gently. "Well, that is the question isn't it? I can’t answer it for you. You must find the way best for you....answering that question is the way to solve the problem. And only you can do that."
Marianne stared at him for a moment and then turned back to the grave. "Maybe you are right. I can’t let them treat me that way."
"Don’t doubt yourself, Marianne. Things are difficult right now, but they will get better. Things are just strange for you...for all of us, right now. Try to be patient."
Marianne thought over his words for a moment and then she smiled. "I suppose you’re right." But beneath Marianne's smile Leon could see doubt. Deciding not to push it any further, he smiled back and then laughed gently.
"I’ve gotten you all dirty." she said.
Leon glanced down at his shirt and his arms and saw that she was right. She glanced up quickly and Leon held out her hands which were covered in dirt from planting the flowers. Marianne laughed and then got up. "Well, I suppose we ought to go get cleaned up and change."
The ride home went quickly. Leon asked her what Madame Sapphira had to say.
“Who?” Marianne asked.
“Madame Sapphira,” Leon said. “She’s a psychic. I went to her once. I hoped she could tell me what I had done in my past life that is causing me such pain in this one.” He cleared his throat and went on. “She tried to regress me to a past life but for some reason she said I was blocking. She said maybe it was too painful for me to look at, but somehow I felt better after talking with her. We agreed that we would try again at a later date. I’ve been trying to clear my mind so that somehow I could look at a past life and maybe make up for the wrongs I have done to make up for them in this life. Maybe helping you will give me better luck in my next life.”
Marianne sat quietly thinking about what he had said. “She said Shelby told her that I didn’t hurt her and that she’s happy where she is.”
“None of us ever thought you could hurt Shelby. Maybe Josh or Rex but not our sweet little Marianne.”
They arrived in the familiar neighborhood. Leon opened the door for her and said: "I wish you luck.” Marianne smiled then turned away and headed for the house. Leon watched her go and then drove slowly to the next door driveway and disappeared.
It was early evening and Marianne knew she had to speak to Michael before another day passed with him thinking there was a possibility of a relationship with her. Not with all the trouble with Rex. After bathing and changing she walked quickly to Michael’s house and rang the bell. Mrs. Yates answered with a warm welcome for her. She invited Marianne to the kitchen explaining that she was in the midst of preparing dinner and they would love to have her stay.
“No, thank you. Mrs. Yates. I just need to speak to Michael.”